Miser
by EndingStar
Summary: A prisoner finding a new life, a revolution forming, an inspector looking for a dishonest man, and much more. A Les Miserables Version of Final Fantasy VIII. R&R, please
1. Look Down

Miser

If the soul is left in darkness, sins will be committed. The guilty one is not he who commits the sin, but the one who causes the darkness.

- (p. 14), 'Les Miserables' by Victor Hugo

Seconds are like hours, hours like years, and years like centuries. Work is like hard labor, hard labor like cruelty, cruelty like prison. Life is like an adventure, like a journey, like a quest. Until you are caught and sent to live life like you have fallen in the Island Closest to Hell. A life is still a life, though, isn't it? You steal feel the pain, physically and mentally. You still feel the regret and the possibility that you have missed or forgotten something. You still feel the way you let down and dishonored anybody who knew you and yourself. Yet, remember this, there is a way to get around it. To create your heart out of stone, to carve it with a blunt knife and to smooth it with a piece of plywood. To have the help of others with their harsh words, cruel beatings, and uncaring ways. To become Mr. Cellophane by Hyne and to be noticed by the devil. El Diablo, if that helps. To know that you are being formed into a demon and have your soul ripped from your body without your permission. You are no longer in control.

Staying at Trabia prison wasn't like heaven, but to tell the truth, what prison was? Let's speak sarcasm and say Supermax is worse than this place. The only difference is that they housed not only the most dangerous criminals, but ones who committed petty crimes that should go in another prison closer to the equator. Just so Trabia wouldn't be so full would probably be a more pleasable excuse. Not one that was kinder. Which one honestly put a poor man who just killed a piece of fruit without paying with a brute of a man who would clear out civilzation just to shut up the noise? Men who didn't have to become and inmate with these types and who gave less than a cat to poison. Those who cared as much as the guards who leaned back in their chairs and probably used the drugs they found in the prisoners cells who were now being given the punishment.

Snow fell from the skies that were clear of any angels, for the devil has no such beings. The brick walls were layered with the white flakes that, spoken in this way, sound as if it was heavy dandruff. Holes covered the wide area surrounded by barbed fences that were hardly enforced. If you want to run, run. Won't get too far, the prison guards could say. Run into a blizzard which would leave you to a horrible end when you find out that didn't kill you while some beast gnaws on your insides. The ground was hard from the cold, almost permafrost in a way. Guards were scattered all around the field, chuckling at the freezing prisoners as they fluffed their fur jackets and adjusted their warm caps. The prisoners were hidden in the wholes they were forced to dig the whole day, only stopping for mid-day meal and to sleep at five only to wake at five in the morning to work again. One could only see the shovels of the men as they throw aside soil and snow. Crudely made scarves wrap around many unshaven heads and scarred faces, warming whatever bit of human is left in there. The uniforms were covered by bright green jackets required by law to separate prisoners and guards. The jackets weren't needed, since anyone who stuck up their nose at a mouse was undoubtedly a worker.

Paradise was the most unlikely word for the place, Hell could be better, and the wrath of Hyne was the best. What had caused these men (and in some cases, women) to fall into the clutches of the law? Why, the victims themselves. Murder, drugs, and money could be a motive. Vengeance, selfishness, gluttony were more. Ah, to finish the rest of the seven deadly sins and to determine what pit of Hell did these poor, unfortunate souls land in? Theft, damage, and other 'petty crimes' as they say, would probably save you. Ridiculous, isn't it? Welcome to the Law of the North.

A hole that seemed to be the dead center of all the others paused, the being breathed for air only to have it cut his throat and lungs to shreds and force him to cover up his nose and mouth with the dirt covered scarf. The chill bit all the way to the bone and yet he wasn't dead. No one died in this prison, because this was beyond death, this was where you went. Or so it seemed. Examples, such a horrible thing. Especially when they convince many that death was no longer possible since they were dead to the outside world and that they now belong to the clutches of the devil, the guards are demons and their fellow inmates victims, just like you.

For heaven mercy and forgiveness existed, as the priests who visited behind protective bars always preached about, then maybe there could be a chance that they could get away, loved ones remembered them and didn't forget them out of shame, and that the Almighty Unnamed God existed and wanted so badly to bless the poor souls who worked till they broke. Such luxuries were often destroyed as they always saw the priest run from his position, thinking he was unseen by the condemned men and away from what he believed could actually be Hell. They would then know there was no point to go past, and now they were doomed.

A hand grabbed a handful of hair from the prisoner and looked into his eyes. Ocean blue eyes looked back, life gone and blank. The head was thrust back and a yell was emitted above the wind. The prisoner looked up but averted his eyes down quickly before the butt of a rifle could have contact with his head again.

"Right here, Sah!" The voice yelled again. "Shall I bring him inside?" The response wasn't heard but finalized as the victim's head was grabbed again and, if he hadn't pulled himself out, he might have just felt his first scalping.

"Come, you. Inspector want's a word and his word is final." The guard yelled in the ear of the man, as if he was deaf. The guard thrust the man forward and almost into the hole of another inmate but the prisoner regained balance and walked the dancing steps towards the main couple of buildings who looked more like box igloos than buildings.

* * *

Inside didn't seem any warmer, but probably a bit more comfortable. Tiles served as the floor and white, hospital like walls made the structure though the smell of sterilized urine and medicines were absent. Guards walked in full attire past them without so much as a glance as they hurried on their way, the maturity and businesslike of them seeming higher and higher as they came closer and closer to the office. Finally, they were met with a huge, oak door that held a name on a silver metal tray it seemed,

'_Inspector Caraway'_

"You should know the procedure. If at any time you are given a signal, then you will receive a warning. After your first, you will receive punishment after the meeting is over."

The prisoner nodded, knowing the punishment full well. Though it was not accepted by the People's Rights Movement or any other movement or group he didn't know about, the government took little focus on it. With the chilling wind the strapped the prisoners left arm and leg to one pole, right arm and leg to the other to stop movement. Back bare, whips would strike against it. He hadn't gotten his share of scars since any little crime he committed in the prison was never that bad, but anytime that happened, no matter what time it was, they were forced to watch the suffering victim. With theories he shared with only himself, it was obvious that embarrassing the guard that his prisoners showed disrespect to the seniority was a one way ticket to ten licks.

Entering the place, he saw that the man had a lot of pride and a ton of self-respect. Awards and degrees covered the walls, adding a slight decoration to the place. The brown and probably cold desk had a mat on it (to protect any hands from sticking to it, he thought) and was cluttered with papers. A wooden chair was put for any guests and for the owner of the place was an elegant and elaborate, purple cushioned chair. In the chair was an average aged man, probably a little older than him but white hair was already appearing, his eyes staring at an article before him as if his eyes were frozen from the outside chill and newly trimmed and shaven sideburns were along his face. His uniform wasn't slacked for comfort, but looking neat and tidy as if he had ironed it with himself wearing it so no wrinkles would form when he put the attire on. He was a fair looking man, but one that was better to look in awe at than to actually know.

"Beggin' your pardon-"

"There will NOT be any begging while I am here unless it is from the scum around here." The Inspectors cold voice said, interrupting the guard. "And my attention is on you, Private. Carry on."

It was obvious that it wasn't, his eyes still stuck to the paper. This was business, which made the prisoner relax a tad until he was directed ('_forced_' or '_push_' may have been a more appropriate word) into the wooden chair.

"This is prisoner 24601. It's his time to go with the ride of 6754. He just needs his ticket, sah."

"I know what he needs, Private. Learn to just state the number of the prisoner and ride." The Inspector said irritably. The Private nodded and stood with legs at shoulder length apart and hands behind his back, his eyes looking straight ahead. 24601 sat straight up, not taking the chance to slouch but going over a new idea, his blue eyes looking slightly distant. He was going to be free. _FREE._ He wasn't going to be in this prison any longer, he was going to be a regular Joe, a FREE man. How long had he waited for this? 4 years? 6?

"10 years, 24601. Thievery, breaking and entering, escaping from jail two times. You may just be the sorry excuse for a criminal. Though I did hear it took a month to find you after the second time. Better be glad your sentence was as small as it is. The decision to make such crimes make you spend a longer time in jail passed after you were sent here, I see. Probably didn't want to waste money on sending you to court to extend it." The Inspector commented, after ripping his eyes from the article and finally looking at the 24601's report. He took a pen from inside the desk and scribbled down some things on a yellow slip and handed it to the prisoner. "You know what this means, 24-"

"It's Laguna. Laguna Loire. And I know what it means."

"Don't make me laugh, Loire. As you know, I am Inspector Caraway. And the fact that you think your free is the wrong theory. You are simply on probation. On the slip it shall tell you where to report to. Do NOT leave the district without proper transfer from your officer. The rest will be explained to you since I am too tied up to explain anymore. Maybe you will lead a law lead life this time."

Laguna seemed to look shocked, which brought a hidden smirk to Caraways face, but it was a face turning into realization and a sudden dislike for the man.

"My… My friend and niece were almost dead. I needed to find some way to clothe them, to feed them. I was running low on money. They needed food-"

"You broke the law, 24601. Breakers of the law deserve whatever the punishment is. I am sorry you have learned this just now."

Caraway handed the slip to the guard and nodded before Laguna could answer. "Take him out of my sight." The guard nodded and grabbed Laguna's jacket and almost dragged him out. "Lucky you have your slip. You would have just ad enough to kill you." The guard growled. He knew how lucky he was. He savored the fact of how lucky he was. Now, he was to view a new world, a world that would show itself to him. What riches and what a new life could he now lead?

* * *

It was clear that the bus hadn't been cleaned since it was bought, which would be since the prison opened, which would then be about seventy-five years. Dirt was piled on top of dirt, seeming that peat could make the floor and that it was just a moving mining tunnel. The seats were ripped and stank of urine and feces, obviously a final good-bye from veteran prisoners who wanted to tell the prison they lived in how much they loved the place. The other men who sat in the bus held their stuff with shivering arms and didn't speak, glad to be able to relax and be in some type of silence. Many took advantage of this and tried to sleep while the bus jumped here and there. It was a wonder that the bus still existed in this weather.

Laguna sat by the window in the far back, his small, tan pack that held his items slouching on his lap. It held what little and precious possessions he had left, and still it hardly seemed like it could carry anything other than itself. His hair was finally groomed and cut so that it reached his shoulders, his face clean shaven and his body washed. One thing they allowed for those who wanted it, though hardly any did since they wanted to get out as fast as they could.

It would be hours till they reached Esthar. It wouldn't matter, though. They had waited years for freedom. A couple more hours was nothing. The landscape blurred past them, with each passing second it changed, and soon it would look browner as if something had died than and Ice Age had happened.

Thoughts went through his head, of the past, present, and future. What had happened to the old town he had lived in, caught in, sent away from, and forgotten in? What happened to his old friends, enemies, and neutral men and women? What would happen now if the storm turned worse and they got stuck on the side of the road? What would happen if they needed to walk the rest? He survived the prison, could he survive the cold only a bit longer? What did Esthar look like? What would happen when he was free? No. Not free. When he was let go like a pigeon only to be called back to show that he didn't commit a murder.

* * *

((I do not own the idea of 'Les Miserables', it belongs to the author Victor Hugo. Final Fantasy and all that connects or belongs to it is not owned by me. I wish, but that would be quixotic. I hope the first chapter at least brought slight expectations of any type or was good in any way. Please send in your review if you happened to love it or hate it. Reviews may put whether I keep this idea and continue with it or just...throw it away for another great author and fan fiction creator to create...It would be interesting if there was an Aida one...oO)) 


	2. What have I done?

Jean Valjean entered the galleys sobbing and trembling; he left hardened. He entered in despair; he left sullen. What had happened within the soul? (p.87)

Victor Hugo, 'Les Miserables'

Knowledge is power, all power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Familiar to all ears that focus on it for through the ages it has turned the nicest man to a creature of violence and rage. To fear the stranger is common in any part for the laziness of working and living a truthful life comes to all and the power to actually live in the light deserves an applaud. Those who steal are those who cannot be trusted, for stealing a relic could lead to a life. To steal is to break so to cause thievery is to break the word of the one above and the law of man. To kill is to cause harm to only the victim or countless others who loved the murdered one, breaking yet again either sanity at times or hearts.

All this went ignored by the bishop of the small town, who resided in the old abandoned hospital that was overgrown in the garden, broken on the path, and worn on the walls. Being a man of holiness (and the only it seemed to that) he ignored the outward harm that could be caused for, as he said, they were only petty dangers. The worst would come to them if they dared attack or steal from anyone, especially a house of Hyne. Locks were forbidden on the doors, the bars on the windows that were meant for protection for the hospital so that none would break in to take any drugs and so the injured or sick could not get out had been torn out and tossed like old ideas from a writer so carelessly forgetting them. The shutter that were now hooked to the windows replaced the prison-like bars and a large wooden yet this door replaced the bar locked excuse for a door that prevented anyone from coming in and from the wait of the object, going out.

The bishop, a tall and muscular man but had no intent to show his strength, could be seen during the day working at the garden, praying in the small room that was designed to be a mini church, or going around town talking with the common people who would be forgotten in an instant by the King himself. He was not like most bishops of the time, others would have spent all the money given to them on gold plates and silk pillows and grand houses so that their lives would be pleasant, but he spent his money on the repairs of the homes, streets, and other things that needed to be taken care of. He had no expensive items to show off other than the pure silverware that was locked in a display case (the only thing that was under lock being that the maid would have hear none of what he had to say against it) which he liked to use a lot of when the 'friends' of his would come and see how he was doing. They would complain, asking him why didn't he keep more money for himself since now he was more of a pauper than a bishop, but he would respond with a fearfully pleasant calmness and answer,"That he may work with his hands what is good, and give to him who has need." Less and less bishops would visit him then, but he had little worry about that. He liked it better without their company.

He was known more as M. Ward, a shorter version of his longer name since slightly would be an understatement. He was slightly older than the middle aged man of the time, his scalp bald with no sign of hair. His robes always were longer than he was which was surprisingly huge when studying his frame. He was calm, and sometimes never cautious of what he did, but he was loved by the people and that was what mattered.

* * *

"What is this?" It was an obviously angry voice belonging to a hungered man who was close near to needing a shave and new clothes. He smashed the money back into the strangers hands and looked at him with irate eyes that demanded an explanation. 

"Do you need an answer? You are a former convict as said on your yellow slip or have you not forgotten? For not living by societies rules and breaking the law you will only get what you deserve. If you don't want it then go on your way." the money was offered again and the man snatched it back, thrusting it into his pack that was slung across his shoulder.

"I have worked longer and harder than any of these pathetic men you have working for you who only talk about ale and girls. I am no more guilty than the rest."

The stranger, obviously the landlord, bared his teeth, a animal thing to do but it was normal for the countryside in that time.

"Go on your way and don't come back. You will be lucky if anyone gives you board."

However truthful that was, it was ignored as the man left with a brisk stride, trying his best to hurry away. Ever since his freedom-

'_No, not freedom. Remember that._' he thought to himself

ever since his...release he had only one name that was known by any boss, stranger, man, women, and child. Convict. He was to only get half-pay as the slip demanded and to never get the best of rooms unless instructed otherwise. Permission to kick out of a household or defend yourself against such a danger was permitted, but what would he do? Anything. That he would do anything. Would he kill, steal, hoodwink, lie, and possibly sell what wasn't his? He didn't know. If it came down to it, maybe. He was a Nothing, an outcast, a burden on society and he was paying for it. He had tried to do the right thing, or what he thought was right, and instead it backfired, leaving the remaining close ones to either live a harder life or die. There was no way to know now.

What was the name of the town he was heading to? He didn't know that either. Come to think of it, did he know anything? He knew they must have board and that it was nearing night time. The sun was providing the last of it's light on the now dirt road that was cut on both sides by wheels from horse drawn vehicles. The bare trees looked more threatening than ever but he wasn't afraid, he had handled worse. If anyone was to club him and take whatever was his then he promoted it, to end his misery of a world that had forgotten him.

It was but three hours later, late at night, early in the night, another thing he could hardly tell, when he finally reached the town. Lights around the signs of inns were lit and he headed towards the nearest one, big and grand, pleasant and comfortable looking. He knocked on the door and waited for a response. The sound of cheering from probably some sort of discussion was heared along with the clinking of glasses. The hoarse laughs of women ('_probably paid from the young men's pockets..._' he thought) was followed after. The door was opened by a short man, skinny though and nearly bald. He had almost an elven appearance to him with a short, pointed nose, high cheek bones and a sense of royalness about him though he lacked a bow an arrow as all fairy tale elves of this height were supposed to possess. He looked at the stranger at the door with a look of happiness as he spoke with ushering words," Come in! You must want a room, no?" The stranger took out a yellow slip that he handed to the supposedly innkeeper. The man's look changed as he took it, scanned over it and thrust it back at the stranger."Then you are going to have to sleep somewhere else."

"Then I will sleep in the stables. I will pay."

"All stalls are taken by the horses that belong to the party here. If I allowed you an empty stall, which we don't have, you would scare the barn boy and who knows what you would do with him..." The man had a look of disgust on his face as he looked the stranger up and down. "There is a bench farther down. Stay there."

"You treat me as if I am no better than a dog!"

"Because you are no more of a man."

The door slammed shut leaving the former convict outside. Rage filled him but doing anything about it would mean being thrown out again with more problems than he could handle now. He looked for the bench that was mentioned and trudged toward it. He sat down with a sigh, tired of the world and it's cruelty. There was a sudden shuffle underneath him as the bench's seat moved and tossed him off.

"What ish the marning uf tharse?"

He looked at was the seat and saw it was an old hag, beaten and worn and laying on the actual seat with a blanket that was almost identical in color.

"Are you trying tar steal mah bed?"

He could hardly believe the women and stood, taking in what had just happened.

"Well?"

"I-uh- no. No ma-" What, was it a she? "'am. I was, well, I didn't know-"

"Ah, shut it. I carn't understand you. I'll tell you one thing. You aren't sleepin' here." She readjusted the blankets and laid back down. He stared in disbelief, threw down his pack and held his head as he started muttering to himself," I am less than a man and dog, I can't even get a bed for doing what? For taking a loaf of bread...unbelievable..." The old lady stared at him with an irratable look.

"See har. You want somewhere to sleep, go to thart house down there." She pointed a ways down. "That thar the bishop. He should have an extra room fer you if'n his high-class friends aint thar." He looked at her and nodded. Maybe things was getting better, maybe this was a trick to get him robbed. Oh well. "Thank you ma'am." He hoped it was a she.

The women waved him off and tried to go back to sleep. "..anythin' to get you to stop talkin' and let me get some winks..." she muttered.

He picked up his bag and headed down in the direction, trying to remember where the house she had pointed at was and looked in almost shock. A bishop lived /here/? In this old run-down excuse for a shaft? He shrugged. At least it would have a bed. Walking up to the door, careful not to trip on the stones, he knocked on the door. It was after ten minutes that he finally got an answer and by then he had his yellow slip already out. It was a short lady, in her night-gown and looking out at him with squinting eyes.

"Wha ya wan?" she asked in a sleepy voice. He cleared his throat and handed her the slip. "I was hoping I could stay a night, if you don't mind. I am a former jail visitor as you can..." No, not plainly. She looked to sleepy. "...see."

"Huh..."she blinked at it and then backed up."Come in. I will ask the bishop." Yes, she was hardly thinking straight.

Once summoned, the bishop came, joyful and ignoring the fact of what the stranger was. "Laguna, yes? The slip said so. You must be hungry. Come, come, we have something you can eat before you rest your head tonight. You don't mind wine, now do you?"

The sudden hospitality caught Laguna off-guard, who responded quickly," You do know what I am?"

The bishop nodded, sticked his head in the pantry and calling out to the maid," Go get some of that new wine. I hope you don't mind Monsieur Loire? Isn't fully aged but it is the only one I have." He gave a slightly embaressed look as he stood straight and led the way to the small dining table and sat down a couple slices of bread, an apple, and whatever else he could find. Laguna looked at it with hunger clawing at his stomach but he turned to the bishop."I could be a murderer and you will not know it until it is too late."

The bishop nodded yet agian as he looked at the man."And could very well be a murderer also, M. Loire, waiting for you to drink the poisened wine." Laguna looked startled but recovered, muttering an agreement as he sat at the table. The maid brought in the wine and filled a couple glasses from the cabinet that was hidden against the wall behind a curtain. Along with the glasses she brought out the silverware, which Laguna eyed secretly. Such money it would cost...

"Now, I hope you will have a good-night after your meal, M. Loire. I have to get to bed. The maid will show you where to go." She in turn gave the bishop a rude look which he ignored and left, slowly as if to savor the time that a guest was there.

"I have to get to bed soon, Monsieur, I have to get to bed also." the maid said yawning. Laguna nodded and ate what he was given, drinking the wine slowly and nodding with a smile, remembering the last time he had had a glass.

* * *

He stayed up that night, the hours creeping by and by. Maybe the bishop told the truth, that he wanted to harm him. He had heard of the sick men who went into these positions and would do horrible things but would be forgiven because they were men of the holy house. Take a normal man off the street and have him commit such a crime and he would be sent to jail immedietly. But then, what was he doing here? Was he tricking those who were dumber than he, and pretending to be a bishop? Did he babble something and let the little people of this town mistake it as Latin? 

He looked outside, the moon was above the house straight meaning only one thing to him: it was midnight. If he left tonight, then he would be free. He didn't see any officials in the town, and he doubted that the bishop fully looked at the slip. A fool who saw a chance to entertain a guest, maybe. That silver, too, looked mighty fine. Almost as if that could let a man live like a King for about...20 good years? That would be more than enough. He would be dead before then. But in a holy house? To commit such a sin? Sure, why not? He commited such a sin long ago, and he could do it now. He was caught last time because he was young and foolish, but now he had wizened and grown stronger.

Yet, who was to say he still wasn't foolish?

He stood, stretched, and redressed. Picking up his sack, he quickly and silently sneaked down the hall and past the bishop's room where he could hear a soft snore. Back into the dining area, he stretched the curtain back and looked at the gleaming silverware behind the thin glass. The cabinet that held it was light by the dim moonlight but still had a light wooden color, almost white. He opened the cabinet and grabbed at the silverware. At first he stuffed them in the pack but it made a loud noise as it clanged together making him cringe. He looked around the corner and gazed into the darkness before continuing his work. He had all but the candle-stick and it's holder before he heard footsteps closer than comfort. He stopped when it stopped and waited. Seconds seemed like years until he looked around the corner and saw the morose look of the bishop. They stared at each other for a while, not moving, until the bishop finally broke the silence.

"Why?"

Loire brought the silver holder up and met with the large man's temple which brought him to the ground.

* * *

(I will, as a heads-up, not start with the rest of the scene. Instead, I will introduce someone new! Maybe with this new charrie you will start to understand why Victor's book was named, "Les Miserables" Trust me, though, things will start to look better! I am actually getting pushed to finish this, but I probably won't repsond in a while. I have mid-terms, speech, project, and I just got new sheet music (( PoC yayness)) that I need to practice. I will get on ASAP as to see if this story is interesting. shrugs good night/day and farewell.) 


	3. There was a Time

_((Ok...maybe it will show what's next XD I just.. couldn't stand Laguna just...sitting there waiting for his turn to show...I am also waiting for little Cosette to grow up (Take a wild guess who she will be) and I will be hated by Quistis fans. Oh, I will be killed. Oh well. Bittersweet endings always get to me. And I know...Caraway is probably not the worst person in the world...and Javert knew nothing of Fantine in the beginning...but I needed to connect it with FF...so bear with me...and give me mercy from your malice...hides. R&R please, Or just wild guesses on who will be who (if you know Les Mis). Bonus points for those who guess right :) I would like to give congrats to Victor Hugo for writing this book and for the creators of Final Fantasy 8 for making...FF8...)) _

_The quantity of civilization is measured by the quality of imagination._

_-Victor Hugo, Les Miserables_

She laughed with them, giggled at the jokes with a laugh that tore at his heart and mended it back together. It was a pity he cared less on how other felt. He watched as she listened to the others but stayed silent, as if she knew not what they were talking about but was still interested no matter what. She wasn't into politics, parties that much even if she loved singing in front of others (and he agreed, she /did/ have a good voice), and she hated arguments. She had the patience of a cat and couldn't, or just wouldn't, get angry enough to yell at anyone. She never did, which helped differ herself from the other two ladies who sat with her in a more formal gown and wore clothes too tight which put much praise on their chest (and he would shamelessly take glances) but probably hurt all night as they tried to go to sleep and failed. The reason why the only trashy part on them was the make-up on their face. She didn't wear make-up, but she looked better than they would ever be without it. To them, he was known as 'Felix', ironic in a way. She believed it, even if the other girls looked at him with disbelief and seemed to know who he was. 'A man who's mother was probably raped while in jail which gave birth to him.' They seemed to know the truth and it bothered him but he would brush it off. They had no idea how to find out and nor would they ever.

She wore her original but beautiful long, flowing and shining red gown that matched with her dark, midnight colored hair and seemed to be the sky itself when the wind blew and caught it just right. Against the pale yet healthy skin, her red lips where even deeper with lipstick, probably something those trashy women convinced onto her. That was one thing about her, peer-pressure was he weak point. Her brown eyes held so much thought, so much intelligence that he couldn't tell if she was given the brains by the Gods and the voice from the mermaids or if she was a straight A student and went to lessons. He leaned more with the first theory but never voiced it out loud. Or had he while he was as drunk as he was now, arguing with his friends about politics and life?

"Felix means happy. Take a look at me ladies. Do I seem like one to be in happiness all the time?" He said finally, breaking his gaze from her. "It seems like we should have named you 'Serio'. You are as boring as a stick when we go anywhere and I think our young friend would agree with us when we say in bed, too." The first of the ladies commented, taking out her fan and flapping it a few times to give her breath as she felt the gown tightening more around her stomach. He frowned as he heard the slight giggles from his comrades, maturity level the same as a toddlers."Bah, we are drunk with wine and our words mean little. This, though, is something that means something." he began, making his way around the table that they were drinking at and had finished their meals at. The place they dined at was a small enough restaurant, two stories but small all the same. "We, me and my fellow friends and brothers," The men nodded, not paying much attention as they tried to get themselves to stand up in their drunken stage. "have a present for you. But, you must wait until the lamps have been lit and the sun is down. If not, it will be ruined." The girls gave a curious look, especially her which would have tore at him if he was sober but, luckily, he wasn't. Was what he was doing something he though of in a sober state? For a fact, yes. "Wherever will you be going?" The third girl asked, holding no beauty nor brains but, from what he hear from a little birdy, she was wonderful somewhere else. "That, my dear, will be explained in the gift." The second man said, following his comrade down the stairwell that was decorated like an outhouse.

"My ladies, receive the gift with love. The servant boy here will deliver it in due time to make sure it doesn't open any sooner." he said, bowing deeply and glancing at her one last time as he straightened. He saw her give him a curious yet loving look, she trusted him which was good in a way. She wouldn't question any further and would obey like a dog. He left down the stairs, without looking back. When they left out of the entrance the girls looked over the gated edge of the roof at the three men, in drunken states, sway left and right singing songs and avoiding carts that were drawn by crazed looking horses ready to run them over. They seemed so happy, so they denied any ill gifts that may be given. The two girls chatted with each other happily, leaving the first out of the conversation without even a thought. They had no interest for her, being naive and foolish in their thoughts. She was young, they thought, and not mature enough to know enough about the real world.

She though all the while, watching as their paid taxi carriage ran off with them in it, soon to be snoring away. She looked down the road and thought to herself, or more day-dreamed. She was a dreamer and a singer. At times, as she watch him laying there asleep in their inn room, she would sing her songs with such a grace that she knew he was listening but not admitting. She always imagined herself in that fairy-tale, that princess with a knight in shining armor and nothing would ever happen to them. The possibility was slim, but she didn't know. Being so well pampered in her life, she ignored it. Her thoughts went all through the evening, she didn't even notice when the boy came and handed a note until one of the girls ( she thought it was the cow) almost screamed in excitement and nearly yelled at the other to hurry up and open it, scaring the boy with her language making her seem like a sailor.

"What is it?" The girl repeated, annoying everything out of the second girl.

"Shut up and I will read it!" she snapped, opening up the letter and holding it to a lamp.

"_My dear ladies,_

_We are terribly sorry for such a rude leave, but we have to admit that may be the last leave we give you. We are required to finish our college courses and become married to educated and sophisticated (_the word was scratched out many times) _so we shall take our leave from you. It was a lovely summer to be beside you, but we now need to take our leave. This is our present and surprise to you, and may your lives go as pleasant as ours will be (_The second interrupted and commented,"Bah, as pleasant as theirs? They will probably be killed within a year by drinking to much wine and cursing the government.")

_Yours truly,_

_ Caraway, Mitchel, Kamel._

The second and third lady laughed, enjoying the joke."My, I have clearly wasted my time with them. I thought we would at least get some type of coin for our company. Anyways, it is getting late and I would hate to be mixed with a lady of the night from some costumer that only comes at that time." The third nodded and they went on their way, waving good-bye to their friend no more who sat with a smile on her face but sadness in her eyes. He did have an ill gift for them. She may had not taken it so hard if she didn't have a surprise for him. Did she call it love that she had for him? Yes, and what she now carried that all women seemed to carry at some point in their life was now growing inside her, and she had already picked a name for it. A tear slipped but that was all, just one. She stood and walked out, knowing nothing now of what was to happen but hoping nothing would totally go wrong.

* * *

He brought the shovel down, sweat coming from his forehead and stinging his eyes but he brushed them away quickly and went back to work. Next to him worked a very angry maid who tore viciously at the weeds that begged for mercy. 

"Oh! What shall we eat with now? Our silver is gone!" she said with an angry voice, tearing even more at the defenseless flora.

"We shall eat with wooden spoons."He answered calmly, putting the shovel down and glancing at how the small yard was doing.

"But we will get splinters! I understand living in this run down of a house but I will NOT stand for the bishop to eat out of such an utensil."she argued, standing up herself.

"Then what about some made of iron? I am sure the smithy can do such a thing for us. I do believe we have good credit."

"It is not about credit! Anyways, iron leaves a taste that I cannot describe that makes the food taste horrible."

He shook his head but looked up as three men walked into the yard, one of them seeming oddly familiar.

"Well, look what we have here, Pops."the first one said, being one of the military guards there. He thrust the man in the middle forward who looked down and shuffled his feet like a misbehaved child caught with what he did wrong.

"Says you gave this to him my good sah, some crud of a story I says and he competes against us as we be sayin's,'Then what's wrong with givin' ol' Pops a visit?' and he is a gettin' all silent like." the second said, grammer impaired.

The man in the middle was silent, giving no word nor looking at the man that now stood before him thinking of what to say next. The maid, though, busied herself with getting up and pointing her dirty finger at him.

"That's him! That's the bloody so-" she was interrupted by the bishop who quickly said," -soul who received these presents." The maid looked at the bishop in disgust but he paid her no mind. "I gave it to him earlier this morning when he said he had to go, this bump on my head is simple when I mishandled that tools I have here." He moved his hand as if spreading butter on a large piece of bread as he showed them all the tools. "It is nothing really, so you may go."

"Beggin' your pardon, Pops, but I am thinkin'-"

"And thinking is good. I suggest you do more of it since this man is clearly innocent. Now remove yourself from my grounds since there are no other guards to escort you and I will personally show this kind man out myself."

The guards looked surprised, but then to hide their pride, they left muttering to one another. the bishop looked at Laguna with a look of seriousness at first, but then a smile broke his features. Loire didn't see this, in the discussion he took out the silver and was fiddling with it, touching the designs and examining it like it was a work of art that would break if he mishandled it. He finally looked up at the Bishop and handed him the silver.

"I acted like a fool, forgetting where I was and that I am no longer a criminal...You should have let them take me for my soul is no longer with me..."

"You are right. Your soul is in good hands now, my friend." The bishop put a hand on Laguna's shoulder and waited until he looked up.

"Take this silver and start a new life. Become a man that people will look up to for you will walk in the light. You have turned you heart into stone, you believed for in taking an eye for an eye, but no more." He shook his head when Laguna was to open his mouth in protest and put the silver back in his pack. "It is yours now. Do you wish to say you need more?"

The maid stood up and rushed towards them. "No! No, more! I can live without the silver if it will indeed turn this man into good," She muttered some other things that the Bishop knew was nothing near compliments, "But any more silver and we will have to spend years on at least getting more spoons with your generous donations!" She threw up her hands and sat down. "Now I know why they said to go with another bishop. They have more sense with money..."

"Look, I-"

"Take it! Go, to the next town, to the next country, who cares!" The bishop took the yellow slip from Laguna and ripped it up. "Is that was is keeping you? Go! Live your life well and you will never be caught!"

Time stood still for a moment, the wind rustled the leaves on the branches and the strands of hair that Loire had held in a loose pony-tail. It was like a staring contest between him and the bishop until Laguna whispered some things and left, hurrying from the place with his pack slung over his shoulder. The bishop shook his head and helped the maid up and continued his work.

"You sure that was the right thing to do?" she asked, pulling the weeds with a more delicate nature and less anger. He didn't answer for a while but shrugged and continued the work. "I have been questioned that since I first started."


End file.
